He left the flophouse but the reek of sweat stayed
with him, his T-shirt already stained, so he lit a
Gauloise as he mounted his truck
covering one reek with another .
He took a selfie while time
passed and his ice melted.
The street was a sea of red, white, and blue,
he’d been in this country more than ten years
but never been touched with a sense of
belonging until the crowd’s chanting turned to
screaming and in a hail of bullets he tasted
Copyright © Dave Will | Year Posted 2016